


Mistletoe

by ohclare



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohclare/pseuds/ohclare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a lonely man walks the streets of New York waiting with a sprig of mistletoe in his pocket</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 25 days of fic challenge over on tumblr.
> 
> this is set in December 1938 due to information in the deleted scene P.S.

Snow is falling as he trudges the streets, hands pushed into his pockets, head bowed against the elements and shoes falling apart. He doesn’t look like the same man he did only weeks before, a man who had laughed in the park and kissed his wife before going for coffee. Now he looked like every other hungry homeless man on the streets of New York looking for a reason to keep going. But then he wasn’t like every other man in New York, he knew what the future was going to bring, he couldn’t get a job in a country that saw him as an illegal alien, and worst of all he had lost the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world with no chance of getting her back. That one rogue angel had stolen his future and all his happiness, but then that was the whole aim of the weeping angels he remembered – that’s what the Doctor had said.

But he didn’t give up, he would never give up. Every flash of red would bring his head shooting upwards; make him look desperately for her familiar face before knowing that she wasn’t there once again. But that wouldn’t stop him from hoping because perhaps one day the Doctor would find a way to get through, find a way to get him back to Amy.

It was almost dark by the time that he got back to his regular sleeping spot that night, a handful of leaflets in his hand. The other men giving him noncommittal nods as he shuffled past the fire pit, no one had good days if they lived there. It was the same every day, the only difference being the chill as it got closer to Christmas.

There was one difference that day though, a small sprig of mistletoe resting by his small pile of belongings. A sprig with a note. _For Amy._ And that was all he needed.

For days he kept that mistletoe close to his heart, no longer downbeat and desperate but clinging to that desperate hope that all his waiting would soon be over. He didn’t tell anyone his secret, there was no one to tell anyway, but it shone out of him. He had a future, because not everything had been stolen from him, not anymore.

And it was as he sat in that same park where he had first been stolen from all those years in the future that he saw a flash of red hair. Instantly he was on his feet, jumping onto the bench to find her because this time he knew that it couldn’t be a false alarm, because this time it just had to be Amy. And there she was, looking exactly how she had the last time he’d seen her, as if she hadn’t had to wait weeks to find him again. And standing out all the more for it in a world that had been so drab and dull only moments before.

“Amy!” he yelled without even thinking twice. “Amy!” he yelled as he jumped off the bench. “Amy!” he yelled as he pushed through the crowds towards her. “Amy,” he whispered as he stood in front of her.

He could see now that she had been crying, he could see the shock and pain in her eyes but she was here and he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Rory,” she whispered back.

And then their arms were wrapped around each other, holding tight as if they never wanted to let go ever again because neither of them wanted to, because neither of them could. They needed no words; their embrace said more than words ever could.

It seemed like hours before they let go of each other, before they could bring themselves to it. But when they did his hand went straight to his pocket, the pocket with the mistletoe in it. A mistletoe sprig that was slightly worse for wear and with only one determined little berry still clinging on but it was still mistletoe.

“Someone left this for us,” he managed, a choking laugh finding its way out of his throat.

And if the mistletoe got dropped to the ground soon after she grabbed him close to kiss him then neither of them really minded.

But every year they always had a sprig of mistletoe to kiss under on the anniversary of that date to remember and to know that they would always be Amy and Rory together until death did them part, and no weeping angels could ever stop that.


End file.
